


The Need of Sleep

by RegalMisfortune



Series: The Chronicles of Momphos [2]
Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Demigods don't need to sleep, Gen, He's probably written pretty terribly in this, I lied, Momphos?, Xeph is a total mom in this, but Xeph doesn't believe that, first time writing as Ridge, like one word, there's some language, there's two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2015-02-27
Packaged: 2018-03-15 12:06:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3446570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RegalMisfortune/pseuds/RegalMisfortune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ridge is working hard on his own projects when Xephos arrives and attempts to get Ridge to take a nap. </p><p>(Based off a discussion on tumblr with myself and a spacefriend)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Need of Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> Ironically I wrote this story when I really should've been sleeping, so apologies for any errors you find.

Ridge had been working. His favored jacket had been taken off and set aside at some point (he couldn’t remember exactly when), and the sleeves of his pristine white shirt was rolled up to his elbows. It was the benefit of working alone, where he didn’t have to look impeccable all the time and do what he wanted to do. Not that he didn’t mind working with Bebop or the others- they brought so much amusement to his life- but he had to work by their rules, their desires, all while looking good (because he’d be damned if anyone saw him less than perfect).

Although he appreciated the kinship of working with others, being alone allowed him to let himself _go_. He whistled softly as he paused in tightening a bolt, shifting his hand to look at the oil and grease that was smeared over his smooth skin. He could use magic to keep his hands from getting stained, or even summon the machine that he was tinkering on all put together and ready to go, but there was something about getting his hands literally dirty that pleased him. It felt as if he was actually doing something, rather than taking a shortcut or cheating.

And people said he abused his power.

Returning his attention to his work, Ridge twisted the wrench once, twice, three times before the bolt was snug to the metal casing.

“There,” he said, stepping back to take a look at his work. Sure it was covered in grime, but he was proud at how there was naught a scratch on the metallic surface and he put it all together without any parts remaining behind (he hated when that happened because he could never figure out where the extra pieces went).

Continuing his whistling, Ridge set the wrench down on a nearby worktable as he moved towards a washbasin, taking the time to scrub the dark stains on his flesh. This step wasn’t necessary either, but it was part of the process of work. You pick up a tool, you got your hands dirty, you put the tool down and you cleaned your hands (although he still cheated only a little bit by using magic to remove whatever the scrubbing missed. No need to accidentally staining his coat).

Drying his hands on a towel, Ridge turned away from the basin, only to realize that someone had been standing the room.

Ridge let out an undignified squeak (one that he profusely denied later of ever making) and took a step back, the edge of the basin jarring into his lower back as glowing blue eyes gazed at him from across the room.

“Shit, Xephos! Don’t DO that!” The words tumbled out of the demigod’s mouth before he even registered what he said, bringing a hand to his heart. Fuck, this must be what it felt like when he snuck up on people and they turned to find him floating two inches from their face. A million more questions formed in his mind as his fright turned into embarrassment, then to anger. Ridge could feel people’s presence from miles away, and prided himself in knowing exactly where everyone was. So how in the world did he get caught so unaware? Then it was the question on how did anyone, let alone Xephos, find his place? He hadn’t told anyone, not even Bebop, where his home away from home was. Then- oh Notch, someone had actually seen him looking like a frump. This was absolutely terrible. If it was anyone else they would’ve been laughing by now, making fun at his state of imperfection and he would’ve teleported them to the highest cliff with the sharpest rocks at the bottom. But Ridge had very little dealing with Xephos. The few times he had resulted in the man actually taking his coat to patch up a fraying hem, offered him tea, and proceeded to give him a sweater (it was the color of melted chocolate and despite telling himself to stuff it away in a drawer and never see it again he ended up wearing it from time to time and it was the most comfiest, warmest sweater he had ever worn, not that he’d admit to anyone about it). This left Ridge with little idea on how Xephos was going to react to his… lapse in attention.

But Xephos didn’t laugh. Instead his eyes were gazing almost appraisingly at Ridge, his brows furrowing together to wrinkle his forehead. Ridge opened his mouth to order the man to leave, to get out and never come back and _don’t tell anyone about this_ , but Xephos beat him to it.

“When was the last time you’ve slept?”

“What?” The question caught Ridge off guard, his anger and embarrassment melting away into confusion. Why would he ask such a question?

As if hearing the unspoken inquiry, the spaceman clarified; “I’ve knocked, there was no answer, and I’ve been standing here for over thirty minutes and you just noticed me, so either you were so enthralled in your work that you’ve somehow forgotten about that strange sensing ability I heard you have or you’re exhausted because you have been working so hard you’ve forgotten to sleep.”

He sounded so confident in his conclusion that Ridge didn’t even consider correcting him that demigods didn’t need to sleep.

“I slept last night,” the demigod replied, the lie rolling smoothly from his tongue. Now Xephos would accept the lie and Ridge could send him on his way (but he was definitely going to get him back for sneaking up on him so).

However, it seemed that those glowing blue eyes pierced right through the lie as the man placed both his hands on his hips and gave Ridge the most unamused, dead serious look that he had ever seen.

Ridge most certainly did not cow under the gaze. He did not.

“Um, two days ago?” He couldn’t even lie properly anymore, not noticing how he shrank slightly against the basin as those glowing blue eyes seemed to intensify. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d slept. He didn’t need to.

Xephos pressed his lips together into a thin line before blowing a sharp sigh through his nose. “Come here,” he said, gesturing to Ridge. “Let’s put you to bed.”

“I’m not tired!” Ridge couldn’t help but whine, feeling more and more like a scolded child. But Xephos just shook his head and suddenly he was beside the demigod, his slender fingers taking gentle hold of his arm and began to lead Ridge out of the room. The demigod’s feet betrayed him as he found himself floating just centimeters off the floor, enough to let Xephos tug him along without having any friction to go against.

“You need sleep. Goodness knows how you manage to function this long,” the spaceman tutted, pulling Ridge along into the living room.

“Really, I don’t need to sleep,” Ridge called after Xephos after the man had let go and disappeared into another hallway to ransack a linen closet.

“Shush, everyone needs sleep every once in a while. It’s good for your mind and memory and lets your body take a break from all the stress it’s been through,” Xephos said after he returned, a folded quilt in his arms (Ridge didn’t remember owning a quilt).

Ridge folded his arms over his chest, his lower lip puckering out into a pout. “I can always sleep later. I have things to do!”

“They can wait,” the man replied, rearranging and fluffing up the pillows before placing a hand on Ridge’s shoulder and pushing the floating man down onto the couch. “Now lie down.”

Ridge groaned, but complied, plopping his head down onto the pillows. “This is stupid,” he muttered as Xephos shushed him, tucking the quilt over and around the demigod.

“Now then, you are going to stay on this couch for an hour. If you want to grumble and complain the entire time that is your business, but I want you at least trying to get some rest and I don’t want to see you getting off this couch before the hour’s up, or you’ll be forced to stay here longer.”

Ridge let out an exaggerated sigh but let himself sink into the couch cushions as Xephos disappeared from sight. He could still feel his presence, though, a gentle, almost shy thing it was, moving to fix a crooked picture frame on the far wall of the living room. He let his mind go through all of what happened to result in his current position, his lips curling into a small frown. Why didn’t he feel concern that Xephos knew where he lived, or better yet, found him in the first place? This was his home, his abode, his getaway from all the other riffraff so he could do what he wanted! But yet…he just let a man he barely knew order him to take a nap. He had even tucked him in (no, he was not excited about that; it wasn’t like anyone had tucked him in before or anything). If anything, Ridge found Xephos to be quite an odd duck.

He heard the man grumble something under his breath, and he could hear him run his fingers over a shelf, obviously concerned about the amount of dust it had collected. He felt Xephos’ presence drift away into another room, although he couldn’t hear his footsteps (perhaps that was how he managed to startle him earlier, the sneaky light-footed man).

Ridge let himself float off the couch, turning to his side so he could prop his head up in his hand while remaining in a lying down position. His lips quirked when he felt Xephos approach the living room again, and turned so he could face the doorway just as the man entered.

The spaceman paused, his eyes going up to Ridge and his toothy grin.  
“Ridge,” the man began blowing out a sigh, yet his eyes hardened once more into that disappointed look that made Ridge unconsciously drop an inch from the air. “Floating counts as leaving the couch. That’s ten more minutes you need to stay here.”

“That’s unfair! I’m lying down and everything!” Ridge complained, but let himself drop down to the couch with a soft thump.

“Yes, but you are still exerting energy while you should be resting,” Xephos said as he came around the couch, straightening out the quilt so it covered Ridge evenly before retucking it. “Now please, get some rest. You’ll feel better, trust me.”

“Fine,” Ridge huffed, but he couldn’t keep his pout on as Xephos gave him a small smile that made his own lips quirk upward.

Soon the man was off again, Ridge could hear him exploring the nearby kitchen. He honed in on the man’s presence, feeling him wander about his home and pause to straighten out a picture or dust off a windowsill. For some reason it didn’t feel like Xephos was an intruder in his home at all, and although it was strange, Ridge actually didn’t mind him being here at all. Xephos wasn’t annoying like a few of the others, nor did he pepper him with questions or argue with him over the best course of action. Rather, Xephos was treating him more like… a mother would, like some of the mothers he had seen in the occasional village he went to.

Somehow the thought made Ridge smile even as his eyes drifted close without his knowledge.

Xephos leaned against the doorframe, smiling softly as the demigod slept. It had almost been two hours now, and he had managed to dust the main floor, open the windows to air the place out, and went out to the nearest town to restock the kitchen. Really, what did that poor man eat with nothing but a box of stale crackers and a few bottles of unidentifiable liquid?

Shaking his head, he removed himself from the doorway and tiptoed towards the sleeping man. He brushed a few strands of auburn hair from Ridge’s face before leaning down and kissing the man softly on the forehead.

 _“Rest well,”_ he whispered against the flesh before straightening up and slipping away out of the house.

Best to leave the tuckered demigod to his rest.


End file.
